...Please forgive me...
...I didn't mean it...
...Can you forgive me?...
...Must I let go?...

Whispering the words, "Expecto patronum," the lily-white doe sprang to life.

Green eyes sparked angrily as she shoved past him, hands flying to her ears as if to block out his voice, but just as quickly she dropped them again. Closing her eyes firmly, biting her lower lip to repress the hard words that sprang to her tongue, her voice shook with barely controlled frustration. "Sev, just let me alone!"
"Lily, please! I'm sorry!" Chasing after her, Severus attempted to stop her by grabbing her hand, but she adeptly avoided his grasp.
"Don't-" she said icily, "-touch me."
Falling back a step, chastened, he tried one more time. "How many times do I have to apologize?" he demanded despairingly. "I never meant to call you... To call you..." he stuttered over his words, then whispered, "I never mean to call you that name. Please, can't we still be friends?"
Shooting a scathing look in his direction, her eyes looked past him as a scornful look entered her eyes. "Your friends are waiting," she stated, striding away haughtily as Severus turned to look at his Slytherin classmates. The future members of you-know-who's Death Eaters.

Stabbing the spade into the soft soil, on his knees at the edge of the garden, Snape poured the pain of his memories into his work, ignoring the beads of sweat that dripped from his forehead. Why couldn't the memories die? Why did they have to plague him year after year?
Rubbing an arm across his face, dashing away the sweat that was threatening to run into his eyes, Snape shifted his shoulders uncomfortably under his old fashioned clothes, overly warm in them. But he refused to take off his heavy clothes in exchange for lighter, more suitable, ones; it was his silent hope that his untamed thoughts would die from the heat.
Walking complacently among the flowers, an impersonal observer, his patronus gave him all the company he needed. And also, in a subconscious way, gave the feeling that she was here with him.

Anything. Sickness clawed at his guts, worry tearing at his mind. Dumbledore had promised that they would be safe, that you-know-who would never find them, but for Severus the reassurance was not enough. If only he were able to see her! For himself!
His head shot up as the door opened, immediately alert. The other Death Eaters also turned towards the door with interest, hoping for something to alleviate their boredom, but they shortly looked away again as it was just Peter.
Ignoring their lack of attention, eyes alit with fiendish satisfaction; Peter announced triumphantly, "Master, I know where the Potters are!"
Every eye immediately returned to him, not a sound to be heard except Peter's excited panting.
Horror filling him, Severus froze, eyes darting to the menacing figure of the Dark Lord. Please no! Dumbledore had promised her safety! Peter couldn't possibly know where she was hidden!
But as Voldemort slowly stood, he felt Lily's doom close around him.

Wiping the dirt from his hands, Snape gazed blankly at the field of white lilies that spread before him; his garden. His garden for her. The evidence of his pain.
At his feet, the freshly turned soil marched uniformly in a straight line. Next year, there would be more lilies. Again and again, he'd come back, plant new bulbs, watch the new lilies grow to mingle with the old ones, and still he'd feel the pain.
Taking out his wand, Snape turned his dismal gaze to the doe. Murmuring the close of the spell, he watched the surreal creature disappear, before stooping to finger the petals of his lilies, selecting one.
Plucking the selected lily, he placed it in his pocket. No matter how many lilies he planted, it never changed the fact that all he had to give, all he had to adorn her grave, was a dying lily. But it was fitting. A dying lily, for his dead Lily.